I still don’t know exactly why I like Ponytail. Describe it to me on paper, and it sounds like the most annoying band in the world. Two noodling guitarists, a schizoid drummer and a weirdo chick that groans and squeals instead of singing? That ticket better be free, and you’d better be buying the beer.
Ask and ye shall receive!
At the Music Hall of Williamsburg last night, I got in free with my douche-y little press badge, and met a cool girl from Norway that bought me drinks all night. I’m moving to Norway, by the way: their currency is worth so much (and the dollar is so pathetically not) that this girl, a hairdresser by trade, could afford to travel to New York for a month and regale new friends with half-price Blue Point. Serendippitous.
I enjoyed myself during Ponytail’s set the same way one might enjoy eating an entire three-pound bag of Sour Patch Kids–a sugar high followed by a mild headache. I got a rush of sweet something as I watched Molly Siegel slowly hump the air with her head tossed back and her eyes rollled into the back of her head like a retard in ecstasy. The propulsive drum beat took her, the guitars swirled melodic scales around her, and all of the sudden, I got it. Sugary J-pop for nerds? The soundtrack to a softcore hentai? Either way, I got buzzed, got over my initial prejudice, and got down with Ponytail. (And so did Chiefmag: like, forever ago. Read the Ponytail interview in Chief Magazine.)
-Andres Jauregui